


Then

by Maygra



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-05
Updated: 2000-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Inspiration and illustration by Gayle, words by Maygra - they go together you see, not unlike their subject matter.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then

Then  
By Maygra & Gayle

 

The Jedi Masters tell us the future is written in each moment; the Force itself changes the longer you dwell within it. The trick is learning to listen to it. Those who are not Jedi, who have only the barest understanding of the Force, think what we do is simply listen to our hearts, our consciences.

Sometimes that is true. Sometimes it is difficult to tell what is the will of the Force, and what is the will of our hearts. They feel the same, the urgings sing to us in the same way, in the same key.

But with different words.

It took me many years to understand the words I heard. Always with approval, sometimes with correction.

"You have done well, padawan." I used to wait for those words. I think I wanted them, to hear them, almost more than I wanted to do well. That would be a failing. Even my master would say so. But he would understand, I think.

No, I know he would. He is a wise man. Not always right, but wise.

I must have been nearly twenty before I realized that his words, his, "You have done well," meant more than I had merely accomplished some task or lesson to his satisfaction. I think it was...a look I saw on his face once. I don't even recall exactly what it was we had done, that I had done, only that for a few moments, I did not think I would live through whatever it was, and worse, that my master might not survive either.

That seemed entirely unreasonable.

I don't know what I did, only that it was I who reached into and through the Force to...provide an outcome I felt was more reasonable. I was both frightened and annoyed. A little stunned when my master reached out his hand to clasp mine and pull me to my feet. He was trembling, as was I. Still, he steadied me, made sure I had my footing, clasped my shoulder and looked at me as if he could scarce believe what he saw and said, "You...did very well, padawan."

It wasn't until much later that I realized the breath he took, the faint glimmer in his eyes, the expression on his face that seemed torn between anger and approval, was not from exertion or adrenaline...but emotion. From fear, from pride, from....

Different words.

I suppose I am not entirely as intelligent as my Master and my teachers thought...or perhaps not as insightful as I might be. The Force cannot overcome all failings. It can provide insight, but not make a person smarter, or more limber, or less blind to things directly in front of him.

My master would deny that I am in any way reluctant to correct such an oversight once I have discovered it. But then again, he thinks very highly of me.

So, why then, did I wait so long to act on what I came to know as an unequivocal truth?

Because I did not know then what I know now.

The words beneath my master's words - he was saying he loved me. Something I knew, but didn't really understand. He loved me, of course. He was, is, my master. I am his student. A certain amount of love and respect are necessary for a successful student/teacher pairing such as the Jedi promote, or so I have always thought. Once I understood that my master loved me with more than the respect a master might bear a padawan, I felt honored, humbled and very warmed by his affections.

I didn't understand then that what I felt was also more than just the love and respect a padawan owes his master.

I am frequently foolish and rarely wise, but not so foolish as to not try and rectify my mistakes.

I was near my trials. It is not normally part of an apprentice's training to be sent on mission after mission, but my master's skills as a negotiator are much prized. Even when he endures private censure by the council, publicly and in all his dealings on behalf of the Jedi and the Republic, he is much respected. We have entered troubled times within the Republic and more and more missions became as much about diplomacy as espionage. That Qui-Gon was needed along with others skilled in placating increasingly hostile factions was not a surprise. I was old enough and close enough to my own knighthood to serve as aide and adjutant to my Master, to embark on some negotiations of my own.

But with such a schedule, I had little time to attend to my own feelings, much less my master's. And Qui-Gon, for all he may have suspected that I knew of his feelings for me, is not a man to press his affections to the detriment of our roles as ambassadors.

Or should he think his regard not be returned in full measure.

Even had I not felt as I did, and not realizing how I felt, had my master asked anything of me, I would have done my best to oblige him without reservation. Qui-Gon is not a shy man, but he is a...traditional one, if I can say that without him denying it. He would deny it to my face, but it is true nonetheless. It is a characteristic I much admire and frequently try to emulate. Were my master to court someone, it would be done in proper form and in proper time.

I am not so patient.

I would be far more dramatic for me to tell you that we stumbled across our mutual passion in a moment fraught with danger and intrigue. That our eyes met across a battlefield and we realized that nothing was more important than our love for each other.

I do recall our eyes meeting, but it was more along the lines of us both being too weary to even contemplate the demanding tasks of our calling. After three weeks of incessant talking and cajoling and backtracking and reasoning in an effort to establish some kind of passage route between the Dialys system and the Lucyzyns space freighters, we returned to Coruscant late in a cycle and weary. Too late to report to the council as is required after every mission, but the report would need to be filed prior to that meeting. Such reports are tedious as they need to be precise as well as evaluative. Without speaking, Qui-Gon volunteered to complete the report while I attended to our unpacking and the restocking of our quarters. A crueler master would have made me dictate the report. We had been gone for three weeks. Prior to that we had been off Coruscant for a month. Our quarters had been cleaned, but there was no food and no fresh linens.

Playing housekeeper is far preferable to dictating a report over less than optimal results of the negotiations.

I managed to procure some broth and tea for my master as I requisitioned and collected linens and fresh clothing, remade beds and put in orders for foodstuffs and sent our clothing to be cleaned: Such tasks were equally tedious, but mindless. They also allowed me the opportunity to bathe and relax far sooner than my master. My own broth had cooled by the time I emerged, but I drank it anyway, checking with my master to see if he needed anything. He did glance up at me and perhaps his eyes lingered on me for a brief moment, but I think it was more to check on my weariness and general health rather than the fact that I was dressed only in a thin robe. He had not changed since our arrival and the hour was already late.

"Go to bed, Obi-Wan. I will be finished shortly." His eyes slid back to the data screen, a bare smile touching his lips as he reviewed what he had already recorded. I could hear his voice in a low echo from the recording, something about my efforts with the Dialys' prime minister. "You did very well, padawan," he said softly.

It doesn't really sound like much, does it?

I had been dismissed and knew it, but I lingered in the doorway, still as the air in the room, listening as he continued. My efforts had been no greater than his own during the negotiations and his report was not about allocating credit for what agreements we had been able to reach. He rested his chin upon his hand as he reviewed and corrected the final report, his other hand coming to rub his chest at some ache, probably from sitting in front of the screen for so long.

He was tired as was I. Duty demanded he be thorough in his report and he was.

The future is written in each moment, and at that moment, watching him, seeing the same thing I had seen dozens of times before, I saw a future, realized a moment I really had not thought on over much.

I was very much in love with my master. I had no desire to be swept off my feet, nor to hear trumpets or singing, only this: that in the semi darkness of the common room of the apartment we shared, I felt as though I had belonged to something for a long time and never noticed it. Perhaps it was the familiar gesture he made, to rub his chest to ease a small ache when a summoning of the Force could have done a far better job. Perhaps it was because he bade me go to bed, to rest, when he needed rest as much as I, possibly more. Perhaps it was his utterance of approval as the last words I would hear from his lips before ending my day.

I set my cup aside and went to him, at that moment only intending to offer a massage to his shoulders to ease the stiffness in his back from sitting.

He did not tense under my touch, but closed his eyes, surrendering to the skill of my hands, a skill he had taught me after long hours of training when my own muscles were so tight, lifting my lightsaber seemed an impossible task. The corded muscles under his robe were like iron and I worked them gently, easing the knots until I felt the tendons loosen.

"My thanks, Obi-Wan," he said quietly. He did not move, but his intention was clear : to once more attend the data screen and finish what he had begun.

I had the same thought and before he could move, I pulled the heavy fall of his hair back with one hand and pulled at the neck of his robe to lay the same soothing touch to the muscles of his chest.

He may well have stopped breathing for a moment. I know I did the moment my hand touched the warm flesh at his sternum. It was an intimate touch for all that I had massaged his chest before when he had overstrained himself. The strain between us now was not a product of overtaxed muscles.

His skin is very smooth, very warm. When he draws a breath the flesh becomes firm, flushing slightly when his breath stutters. He kept his eyes closed until my fingers ghosted across his breast to test the firmness of his left nipple.

I am sure he had doubts. We had not spoken of what lay between us. We had acknowledged it only to ourselves, and not to each other. It was not as if we both struck by a sudden frenzy of lust, only the recognition that however the future might stretch before us, this very mundane, comfortable quietness would be what would anchor us. That this moment, and others like it, would be the reward for answering the call of our duty and our beliefs.

He needed only to turn his head and lift it a little for our mouths to meet. We both drew a small breath in the moment before and then shared that breath between us. His lips are very soft, moist and tasted slightly of mint from his tea. He touched my jaw lightly, opening his mouth to mine, inviting me in, his tongue courting mine briefly - I needed no other encouragement. His fingers caught my braid, not to tug, only to finger. He half turned in his chair as I caught the opening of his robe and pulled it lightly so that both my hands could reach inside and smooth over the skin there. It felt very right, instinct guided by my heart or the Force - I have no idea which nor, then or since, has the distinction ever mattered.

He pushed my braid back, his hand continuing on along my throat to my shoulder to slip the robe off my skin. Our mouths parted then, eyes meeting for a brief moment before he turned away. It was only to save his report, and he untied the sash of his robe as he got to his feet.

I took that as a yes to the question neither of us had ever asked.

I had to smile at him then. He is so very tall and I had to look up at him, wanted to see his smile. Then again, he has to look down at me and bend somewhat to kiss me. Given a choice, I think I would rather look up.

He dropped his robe on the desk, which blocked the light from the terminal considerably and kept us from tripping over it. My robe did not serve us as well and required cleaning. I had no idea the floor was so dirty. Tall he is, but skin to skin we fit together perfectly well. The hollow of his throat is very sensitive and I never knew that a kiss laid upon my temple could send such warmth through my body. Yes, we fit together excellently well.

I suppose all new lovers experience some awkwardness, but I cannot honestly recall anything save the time it took for him to remove his boots and pants and set them aside. He murmured something about wishing he had bathed but it prompted no concern from me, nor from him, save the comment alone. And then we seemed to both be far too interested in exploring and reacquainting ourselves with bodies we knew so well, but now saw through different eyes. Awkwardness is often reserved for those who are shy and uncertain. We were neither.

There was no rush to consummate that first encounter. It seemed as if we had been lovers for years and perhaps we had been in all but the physical act. But there was and still is a sense of wonder in me when we make love, to watch him, hear his breathing grow short and shallow. To see the expression on his face when my hands cover him, fondle him, caress him. To feel the muscles in his back tense and relax as we rub and rock together. To know how much he loves to kiss me when he strokes me, probes my body gently. To feel how he opens to me when I finger him, how he moans softly, with a slight rumble in his chest.

I don't need to recall the precise details, for every time since then has been as easily complete. Sometimes more forceful when desire and need collide rather than the simple knowledge that this is what we want, where we want to be and with whom. Qui-Gon is as generous a lover as he is a master. He teases me as easily in bed as he does in the field. He fills my body as fully as he fills my heart and tells me I do the same. There is no better aid to my sleep than the taste of him on my tongue, the feel of his body next to mine, the clasp of his arms around me.

He whispers my name when he comes. Every time, or so I think. Perhaps I hear it only in my head, but it is what I hear, my name said in the same tone and with the same meaning as he once used to say, "You have done well, padawan."

I love you as well, master.

-end-


End file.
